Chapter Text
The little stage in the school lobby was a burst of primary colors, letters, and children’s laughter.
All the kids sat in rows beside their parents and special guests, enjoying musical numbers, jokes, and drawings on stage while munching on freshly popped corn.
A round of applause swept through the hall, signaling that his turn would be next.
Sefa — Mordred’s best friend — and her father had somehow managed to bring in a dove, which flew straight into Guinevere’s arms as though she were a storybook princess, winning delighted giggles from the children and even a few parents.
The curtain fell for a brief moment, giving Arthur just enough time to set up the improvised puppet theater Merlin had crafted for them.
It was a modest yet magnificent cardboard castle, the result of an entire week’s work.
For the last three days, the family had devoted themselves entirely to perfecting the show, practicing their lines and polishing every detail of the castle.
Merlin had filled each tower with tiny flags bearing the crest of the King of Nowhere, and he had even recreated the stage’s shifting backdrop mechanism to allow the scenery to change mid-play.
Behind the cardboard castle, the sound of children’s chatter and laughter was muffled or perhaps their own hearts were simply pounding too loudly to pay attention to the audience through the haze of nerves.
Arthur stood up, daring to peek through the curtain at the children gathered in front of the stage. Further back, a beaming Merlin already had his digital camera pointed straight at him.
The look of deep love and expectation on Merlin’s face made Arthur’s heart skip a beat. To be able to share such a sweet, special moment with his family was yet another simple but undeniable sign of how much they loved him, and how badly they wanted him to belong.
“Ready, little dragon?” Arthur asked gently once he returned to Mordred’s side, placing the puppet in his son’s hand before settling the golden crown that the boy had craft himself for the play.
Determination shone on Mordred’s face as he slid his hand into the dragon puppet. Though tense with nerves, he nodded a couple of times, his eyes fixed on Arthur. “And what if I forget my lines?”
“Then the King of Nowhere will have to steal all your lines. Though, I think you know he doesn’t mind being the center of attention,” Arthur reassured him with a grin. “Remember, our dragon, Kilgharrah, is very gentle. He knows you’re doing your best.”
The opening song they had chosen filled the stage, and with a shared nod, father and son moved into position.
“Showtime,” Arthur whispered, coaxing a smile from Mordred.
The trumpet fanfare announcing the king blared just as the curtain opened.
The King of Nowhere appeared on stage, his ridiculously blond hair gleaming under the spotlights as he nervously flailed his arms, searching all around.
“Ha!” Arthur’s high-pitched laugh echoed through the hall. From where he stood, he could see Gwen’s nostalgic smile as she watched, and Merlin’s bright, encouraging expression. Their joy swept his nerves away completely.
“I am the King of Nowhere!” the puppet proclaimed, thumping its chest. “But my kingdom is Nowhere to be found. Has anyone seen my kingdom? I seem to have lost it!” The puppet brought its hands dramatically to its face in anguish.
The puppet’s exaggerated despair drew laughter from the audience, and Arthur made it shuffle across the stage, looking pitiful and lost.
On the other side, a timid voice emerged. Mordred’s Kilgharrah poked his head out from behind the cardboard castle. “I think it’s right where you left it.”
The king spun around in exaggerated shock, his mouth dropping open before shouting, “A DRAGOON! Do you know the way to Nowhere, great and wise beast?”
The dragon shuffled forward, head bowed, wings drooping, his voice weary. “I don’t know the way anywhere. I’m lost. My fire has grown weak, my wings feel heavy, and…” Mordred faltered nervously, his little hands trembling inside the puppet. “I think… I think my heart is hurt.”
The king’s pompous manner melted at those words. His arms reached out, patting all over the dragon in search of visible wounds. “A wounded heart is a VERY serious problem.”
The blond puppet leaned far out from the stage, emphasizing the gravity of the situation. “I am the king! I think I know how to fix this... WITH A SONG!” His voice rang with conviction as he broke into an off-key rendition of Yes Sir, I Can Boogie , drawing laughter from the audience—and from Mordred—while the puppet did its best impression of the dance.
When the song ended, the dragon shook his head. “No… that’s not it.”
“Then a feast! A grand banquet in your honor!” the king proclaimed, producing an apple from his pocket.
“I’m not hungry,” the dragon replied, Mordred’s little voice growing steadier as he lost his shyness, carried away by the story they had rehearsed so many times.
The king fell silent for a few seconds, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “You know something?” The puppet’s lively tone softened, more like Arthur’s real voice now. “Maybe I don’t know the way back to my kingdom, and maybe I don’t know how to fix a dragon’s fire…”
The king gave the dragon a gentle pat on one of his felt legs.
“But I do know this: a wounded heart doesn’t always need to be fixed. Sometimes, all it needs is a friend who cares, someone to listen, someone who stays.” The king leaned close, pulling the dragon into a clumsy half-embrace.
“Healing isn’t about big actions. It’s about being together, about waiting, and most importantly…” The king turned, pointing at each child in the audience as though speaking directly to their hearts. “It’s about understanding that you don’t need to be fixed to be loved.”
At those words, the dragon returned the embrace, his felt paws wrapping around the lanky blond puppet. “You don’t need to know how to heal a dragon. You just need to keep him company while he heals himself.”
The curtains began to descend just as the spotlights dimmed and applause thundered across the theater.
Behind the cardboard castle, Mordred had shed every trace of timidity, his whole face lit up with joy. Seeing him that happy was more than enough to make Arthur feel utterly blissful.
“We did it! You saw it, right, Arthur? Dad was smiling.” The boy’s excitement was contagious as he flung himself into Arthur’s arms, squeezing him in a fierce, love-filled hug.
“Of course he was, son. I saw it with my own eyes.” Arthur’s chest rose and fell with a joy he had once thought impossible. When they finally let go, they began carefully placing their puppets into the carrying box they had prepared.
“You know, Dad?” Mordred called his attention as he gently laid Kilgharrah inside. His eyes met Arthur’s, brimming with affection and trust.
“I don’t know how to heal a dragon,” he admitted, echoing the last line of the play as a mischievous little grin spread across his face. “But I do know how to heal a Pendragon.”
Arthur froze, his hands trembling slightly as his gaze locked on his son.
This incredible, perceptive child—the one who had seen through the lonely king hidden beneath his playful, carefree façade.
The gentle boy who had forgiven him, even after his heart was broken, and had welcomed him into that vast, loving heart as his father.
A laugh of pure astonishment burst from Arthur’s chest. Overcome with love, he swept the boy up into another embrace, warm, tight, and comforting, just like the one they had shared on the day they were reunited.
“Yes, Mordred. You definitely do,” he whispered, pressing a kiss into the curls atop his son’s head, earning a delighted giggle in return.